The Raven
by A Weaver of Words
Summary: Can the Raven win the Wolverine? (Wolverine and Mystique pairing)
1. To Protect my Heart and Soul

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, except the plot. This poem is Poe's The Raven.  
  
****  
  
The Raven: To Protect my Heart and Soul  
  
****  
  
The Raven  
  
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only  
That one word, as if (her) soul in that would word (she) did outpour.  
Nothing further then (she) uttered- not a feather then (she) fluttered-  
Till I scarcely more then muttered, "other friends have flown before-  
On the morrow (she) will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."  
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."  
  
-Edgar Allan Poe  
  
****  
  
I don't know why I am so attracted to him. I couldn't say I love him. I don't think I am capable of love. I once was, you know? Capable of love. I hardly remember it now. The other mutants call me cold and say that I don't have a soul. Maybe they're right, but I did have one once, you know? A soul. I loved once too.  
  
There's a secret that no one knows about me. I wasn't born with blue skin the way everyone believes I was. I stay in this form to protect myself, to protect the heart and soul that I no longer have. I was so set on protecting that I lost them. I lost them when I stopped loving and feeling, I stopped living, really. All I have left now are vague memories of the past when I felt, when I loved, and when I lived.  
  
****  
  
I know it suck, I know its short, and I know that the poem has nothing to do with the story. Bear with me, it will. Please, press the little blue/purple button and make my day! 


	2. When I had a Soul

This entire chapter is set in Mystique's childhood.  
  
****  
  
The Raven: When I had a Soul  
  
****  
  
The Raven  
  
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only  
That one word, as if (her) soul in that would word (she) did outpour.  
Nothing further then (she) uttered- not a feather then (she) fluttered-  
Till I scarcely more then muttered, "other friends have flown before-  
On the morrow (she) will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."  
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."  
  
-Edgar Allan Poe  
  
****  
  
"Mommy, Mommy! LookitwhatIgotforyou!"  
  
Panted a small, angelic girl of five, holding a small bouquet of wilted, dying wildflower that were only beautiful in the eyes of the child and the man who loved her. A tall man with pain in his eyes loomed over her, covering the sun with his large frame.  
  
"Lenore honey, Mommy can't come outside right now, ok? Mommy's. . . Mommy's sick honey, and you have to be very quiet when we're inside so she can get better, ok?"  
  
"Ok Daddy, I'll be quiet."  
  
Replied the now solemn eyed child, instinctively knowing that her father's pain.  
  
"Thatta girl, go play with your toys now hon."  
  
"but Daddy, can you give the flowers to Mommy? Tell her its from me."  
  
Then gentle-eyed man smiled and humbly took the flowers that his child offered.  
  
"She'll be so happy to see these Lenore, they're beautiful. I'm sure that they'll help her to get better soon."  
  
Lenore grinned a smile filled with child-like innocence and sunshine. She skipped away, into the wildflower garden that she loved, to play with her flowers.  
  
The strong man stood there, watching her with a slight smile. She disappeared around the corner, and he looked down at the flowers she had picked with her small, chubby hands with an empty look in his eyes. A solitary tear dropped from his eye, then another. He sank down into the grass, placed his face into his hands, and wept.  
  
He wept for his wife, Anne, who would never be able to see the beautiful bouquet that her child had picked for her, he wept for their Lenore and the pain she would have to endure. He wept for himself for the loneliness he knew that was to come. He struggled to compose himself, and lost the fight. He stood up, still weeping, and walked into the house where his wife's almost empty body was waiting for him.  
  
****  
  
When the doctor told them the news, nearly two years ago, they were stunned. Their lives were forever changed with the one dreadful word he uttered. Cancer. Everything had been going so well. They had a young daughter they both adored, they were finally out of debt and more then well off, and they had been in the best of health. Or so they thought.  
  
They had tried every drug and every therapy, nothing worked. After months of chemotherapy, the doctor told them the agonizing news. Nothing was working. Anne's cancer was only getting worse. He said that Anne could have a marrow transplant as a last ditch effort to live, but back then it was still in the developing stages. The odds of surviving it were slim to none. He had wanted to take the risk, he would have taken any risks if it meant that Anne would live to see her daughter grow up, but she refused. Anne said in that soft voice of hers, that she already knew her time had come; there was nothing to do but wait for it. She wanted nothing more then to die peacefully at home, surrounded by her husband and daughter. She was sick of all the pain.  
  
****  
  
Michael gently laid the bouquet of flowers on the small table next to her bed. Then he sat down in the soft chair, the chair that now had a permanent dent in its supple cushions. It was a small chair, a chair he often slept in, cried in. It was the chair that he was in constantly, the chair next to the deathbed of his wife, his precious Anne. He sat and he buried his face in his hands again, and quietly sobbed.  
  
He felt the lightest touch on his leg, a touch as light as a feather from the wings of an angel. He looked up, his eyes rimmed with red. She was awake. His heart leaped up, it was the first time in almost three days that she had been awake.  
  
"Michael?"  
  
Her voice barely stirred the air.  
  
"Yes darling?"  
  
He asked, trembling.  
  
"Its my time, Michael, I can feel it. . . I'm so sor-"  
  
She gasped for breath, her body weak.  
  
"Darling, save your strength, and don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry. The years that you have given me has made me more happy then I ever believed I could be, so don't ever be sorry. . ."  
  
Silent tears slid down her beautiful face to be absorbed into the pillow. She spoke only one more word.  
  
"Lenore. . . "  
  
"I'll take good care of her Anne, don't worry about us. Look darling, she picked these beautiful flowers for you. Wildflowers. She shares your love for all the wild and natural things. . . Look at how beautiful they are darling, beautiful just like you."  
  
Anne smiled a silent, peaceful smile, and her vivid, still lively blue eyes met his dark, sorrowful ones. She gently blinked twice. This had become their signal for "I love you, dear," when she was too weak to speak. Michael's eyes brimmed over with tears. He blinked slowly, twice. The acidic tears slid down his cheeks, burning his heart. With the last bit of strength that was still left in her, she lifted her gaunt arm slightly and caught a falling teardrop. She closed her almost lifeless hand around it and met his pain filled eyes for the last time. She smiled for him, then closed her eyes. Just like that, she was gone.  
  
****  
  
Michael's grief trespassed all boundaries. They had been best friends since childhood, and then later, high school sweethearts. They were married on the 20th anniversary of the day they had first met, the day when he had told her she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he intended to marry her when he "grow'ed up". They were soul mates, their love was perfect and pure, and now she was gone.  
  
Michael lost everything the day Anne died. He was so overcome with grief, he forgot his promise to her, he forgot Lenore. He lived for another year, but truthfully, he died the day Diane died. He became a ghost, drifting in and out of the house, drifting in and out of Lenore's young life.  
  
****  
  
Lenore grieved quietly for the young mother she loved so much, and the handsome father that she had been so close to before her mother's death. The day she picked those beautiful wildflowers was the last day in her young life when she was truly happy. After that faithful day, she lost everything, both mother and father. She was left to raise herself and a grown man all alone. Michael followed Anne into the grave a short year later, and the six-year-old Lenore was left truly all alone in the world.  
  
****  
  
I write SOO much faster when I get reviews, so please review!! ^^ 


	3. When I had a Heart

Warning: Attempted rape.  
  
This entire chapter is set in Mystique's teenage years.  
  
****  
  
The Raven: The Beginning of the End  
  
****  
  
The Raven  
  
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only  
That one word, as if (her) soul in that would word (she) did outpour.  
Nothing further then (she) uttered- not a feather then (she) fluttered-  
Till I scarcely more then muttered, "other friends have flown before-  
On the morrow (she) will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."  
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."  
  
-Edgar Allan Poe  
  
****  
  
"Dammit Charlie, I told yah I don't wanna"  
  
"C'mon Lenore, don't such a prick, I know you been wit eve'y other guy at dis school!"  
  
Charlie slurred his words, clearly drunk.  
  
"No Charlie I haven't, I'm not a slut, ok? And you've had way too much to drink. I wanna go home now."  
  
"Why Lenore? We jist got he'e. Don wanna go home."  
  
He took another swig of his almost empty can of Heinekens, then threw it in the back of the car, making a small mountain of empty drinks. He belched, then leaned in to kiss her.  
  
"NO!"  
  
Lenore shouted, blocking his kiss with her hand and turning her face away,  
  
"Charlie! I said I don't wanna! You're being disgusting!"  
  
"St -top bein' tho stubborn, you liked me when you said you go to dis dance wit me."  
  
"That's cause I thought we'd actually be dancing, not stuck out in this ca- "  
  
Charlie covered her lips with his hand and slurred loudly,  
  
"SHADDUP! Your bein' thuch a bitch!"  
  
His voice softened,  
  
"All I want is a lil kiss Leenoore, dats all. I won't bite."  
  
She hated the way he dragged out her name, slurring all the while. She briskly said,  
  
"No, Charlie, I already told you, I wanna go home."  
  
"I won't bite, Leenoore"  
  
He ignored what she said, and leaned towards her, overpowering her weaker body. Lenore struggled, twisting in his grasp. She realized this was getting dangerous, and she punched him. He drew back, clutching his nose.  
  
"YOU BITCH!"  
  
He howled, and Lenore opened the car door and ran outside, deep into the park they had stopped at on their way to their prom. She tripped on her high heels, and she took them off without hesitation. She continued running, trying to get as far away from Charlie as possible. She heard him panting close behind her. Lenore was scared; Charlie was big and drunk, and she was small and weak. She didn't know what he would do if he caught her, she didn't want to know.  
  
For the umpteenth time in her short life, she wished she was anyone but Lenore, anyone at all. She heard him close behind her, so close she could almost feel his disgustingly hot breath on her neck. He grabbed her by her stomach and shoved her roughly up against a tree in the park and whispered,  
  
"You thought you get away from Charlie? C'mon Leenoore, why're yah runnin'? I know you're a slut."  
  
She turned her head so that she would not have to look at his repulsive face. He grabbed her by her cheeks with his clammy hand and shouted  
  
"YOU SLUT! WAT AM I NOT GOOD 'NOUGH FER YOU?"  
  
He drew his hand back and slapped her, hard. Lenore's head jerked to the side, and her vision blurred. Then darkness began to settle in, but she jerked herself out of unconsciousness through sheer will power alone. She was too afraid of what would happen to her if she passed out.  
  
Lenore tried to squirm her way out of Charlie's grasp, but he was prepared this time.  
  
"Your not getting' 'way dis time Leenoore. . ."  
  
He pushed himself up against her, and sloppily kissed her cheek. Lenore twisted in his grasp, and began to scream.  
  
"C'mon Leenoore, stop screaming, you know you wan' it."  
  
He put his hand over her mouth, to muffle her screaming. He whispered, breathing hotly on her face,  
  
"Its not gonna hurt Leenoore, Charlies nice. . . "  
  
Lenore wished with all that she was that she was anyone, anyone at all as long as it wasn't herself- and she felt herself changing. It was strange, different from anything she had ever felt before. It wasn't particularly painful or pleasurable; it felt like the way it feels when your feet fall asleep, only it was her whole body going numb. Lenore didn't realize what was happening, and she was mystified when she saw Charlie's jaw go slack and he dropped his arms. She didn't know what could bring about such a change.  
  
He took a stumbling step back, his face terrified, his eyes never leaving hers. He turned and ran. Lenore didn't understand what had just happened. She looked down at herself, and screamed. She was Charlie. She fainted. 


	4. My Life

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, except the plot. This poem is Poe's The Raven.  
  
This entire chapter is set in Mystique's teenage years.  
  
****  
  
The Raven: My Life  
  
****  
  
The Raven  
  
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only  
  
That one word, as if (her) soul in that would word (she) did outpour.  
  
Nothing further then (she) uttered- not a feather then (she) fluttered-  
  
Till I scarcely more then muttered, "other friends have flown before-  
  
On the morrow (she) will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."  
  
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."  
  
-Edgar Allan Poe  
  
****  
  
Lenore slept. She was unaware of everything in the world except for the vivid reoccurring dream she was in, and the pain that always came with it. In her dream, she relived the entire, 16 years of her young life. Scenes from her life flashed through her mind.  
  
"I love you, Mommy!"  
  
"Mommy's. . . Mommy's sick honey. . . "  
  
". . . to mourn the passing of Annabelle Mystique Darkholme"  
  
"I. . . I can't believe she's gone. . . My Anne. . . "  
  
"Dearly beloved. . . we are gathered here today. . . "  
  
"Joe, we'll git lotsa money if we take 'er in. . . Mah dead brother was well off. . . "  
  
"Lenore, you gonna to be livin' wit us now. . . "  
  
"Daddy sez you a charity case. . . Daddy sez no one wants yah 'cept fer us. . . "  
  
"Dis is MY room an' dis is MY mommy!"  
  
"You, girl, bring me 'nother beer"  
  
"Ya don't gotta mommy! Yer mommy is DEAD!"  
  
"Hi, I'm your neighbor. My name is Cindy, and we can be bestest friends."  
  
"Honey, why don't you tell your mommy you need new shoes, ok?"  
  
"Do ya WANT me to belt yah again?"  
  
"Lenore, why don't you ever bring your lunch money?"  
  
"The damn bastard who calls himself my father raped me Lenore, he RAPED me. "  
  
"Look girl, we took ya in, we feed ya, yah should be grateful, not complain' 'bout needin' a jacket cuz you can't take the damn cold. . ."  
  
"Lenore, Cindy committed suicide last night. . . "  
  
"Lenore, I was wonderin' if yah wanna go to the prom with me. . . "  
  
"I won't bite, Leenoore. . . "  
  
****  
  
The worst part of her dreams is when she learns of Cindy's death. Every night, the sorrow of her death was made fresh, and the helplessness was renewed. The pain was strongest then. Lenore could take all the physical and emotional abuse. She could take the taunting; she was strong enough for that, but she couldn't forget that she hadn't been able to save Cindy.  
  
Cindy and Lenore were "bestest" friends from the day they first met, when they were both five. Cindy had the friendliness and strength that Lenore admired, and Lenore had the loyalty that Cindy loved. They shared everything with each other, their pain, sorrows, and hardships. They were two broken souls, and when they were together, they made each other whole.  
  
Cindy was the only reason that Lenore was still alive. She had tried more then once in her young life to end everything, but every time, Cindy would save her. The cruel irony was that when Cindy needed her, Lenore had been helpless. She died the way that Lenore wanted to die so many times. Lenore could not forgive herself, she should have known, she should have stopped her.  
  
****  
  
Lenore sobbed in her dream, in her nightmare, unaware of the tears outside of her dream, that were running down her face into the soft grass underneath her body. This dream was the nightmare that she had every night, since that faithful day, eleven years ago, when her mother died. Everyday, a new event was added, some new and horrifying event. With this dream, the pain came too. The pain always came.  
  
****  
  
The pain was usually the worst in her back. That was where her adopted 'father' would hit her with his belt when he was drunk. He was often drunk. Tonight, there was also a different pain, a throbbing in her head. It was so strong. She wished it would stop. Then she remembered. Charlie. She woke up screaming.  
  
****  
  
Everything was dark, the silence unbroken save for the sobbing of a girl who was not yet a woman, but not quiet a child- a girl who had lost the innocent happiness of childhood long ago. When her tears were finally defeated by exhaustion, Lenore looked down at herself, afraid of what she would find. She was Lenore again.  
  
She wondered if she had just been dreaming that she had turned into Charlie. She wondered if she had just dreamed that Charlie tried to rape her. She tried to convince herself it was, but she knew, deep down, that Charlie had tried to rape her, and she had become Charlie.  
  
She was a mutant.  
  
****  
  
Sorry it's short, but I promise the next one will be longer and better, but only if you review. Yeah, you. : D Thanks for reading!! 


	5. When I Lost it All

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, except the plot. This poem is Poe's The Raven.  
  
This entire chapter is set in Mystique's teenage years.  
  
****  
  
The Raven: When I Lost it All  
  
****  
  
The Raven  
  
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only  
  
That one word, as if (her) soul in that would word (she) did outpour.  
  
Nothing further then (she) uttered- not a feather then (she) fluttered-  
  
Till I scarcely more then muttered, "other friends have flown before-  
  
On the morrow (she) will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."  
  
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."  
  
-Edgar Allan Poe  
  
****  
  
I have power. Real, raw power. I don't know how I didn't know about it before, because now I can feel it so strongly. It is in every fiber of my being, it pulses through my veins. Now that I am aware of it, I can feel the energy and strength that runs through my red, red blood. My power.  
  
I don't know yet what I want to do with my newfound powers- no, I do know what I what, what I need. I need revenge.  
  
My lust for revenge frightens me. It knows no boundaries. It has no beginnings, but I am hoping that my revenge on Charlie will provide an end. It is all I think about and it offers me no respite. I must have my revenge. It is eating me alive, my need for vengeance.  
  
****  
  
"Hey Lenore. So how'd you like out date last night?"  
  
Lenore stared at him in shock. He must have been too drunk to remember what he did, or tried to do. She pitied him. No, she was disgusted. He is pathetic.  
  
"I liked it fine, Charlie."  
  
She smiled, and forced out a laugh. If he didn't know, its better for Lenore, easier for her. Easier for revenge."  
  
"So. . . I was wonderin' if ya were free on Friday."  
  
"Yeah, I'm free. . . "  
  
Lenore looked at him coyly from underneath her eyelashes; this always seemed to get them. She would have her revenge.  
  
He gave her a disgustingly slick smile, and turned to go. Lenore quickly reached out and forced herself to touch his right shoulder, trying not to recoil at the touch.  
  
"Wait. . . I'm free tonight. . . "  
  
She left the rest of the sentence for him to finish. Lenore could not wait until Friday for her revenge.  
  
He smiled his sickeningly smooth smile again, probably thinking that she was desperate to be near him.  
  
" 'course Lenore, anything for you. . . "  
  
Lenore wanted to smack him and ask if there was anyone stupid enough to believe his crap. Then she remembered she had believed him only yesterday. She hated herself.  
  
****  
  
Lenore called Charlie on his cell phone; he was the first student to own one at their school. He bragged endlessly about it, but it would serve well for her purposes.  
  
"Charlie, I am so sorry, but Imma be jest a little late for our date. . . I got held up at work. . . where are you right now?"  
  
"Its aright Lenore, I'm in front of your house right now. . . how late are you going to be?"  
  
"I'll be there in 'bout ten minutes Charlie, but I'll make it up to you. . . I promise. . ."  
  
Lenore purred suggestively into the phone, with only the lust for revenge driving her. She knew exactly what she needed to do.  
  
"I'll be waiting right here for you, Lenore. . ."  
  
Lenore smiled, her eyes hard. That was just what she wanted.  
  
****  
  
She approached the bank, making sure that the mask she had bought earlier was covering her face, or rather his face, well. She didn't want to make it too obvious. Lenore/Charlie strode powerfully into the bank, and took out her stepfather's gun. She grabbed a nearby woman, and held the gun to her head.  
  
"This is a hold up, give me all your money"  
  
Lenore shouted, in Charlie's deep, booming voice. Frightened glances and cries greeted her. The woman in her- Charlie's arms was cursing and struggling. Lenore pitied her, but her need for revenge was stronger then her compassion.  
  
"Give me your money NOW"  
  
Lenore/Charlie screamed, pressing the gun into the woman's temple. The woman stopped struggling, made still by her fear. A terrified bank teller scurried to get what Lenore/Charlie demanded. She was soon back with a bag filled with money. Lenore/Charlie grabbed the bag, while still holding the woman. She purposely loosened her gripe, giving the woman enough space to pull her arm free, and yank off Lenore/Charlie's mask. The woman took the chance, and jerked her mask off. Charlie's face was reveled to a bank filled with customers.  
  
Lenore inwardly smiled a self-satisfied smile. Her plan was going better then she had ever imagined. As Charlie, she jerked the woman away, and slapped her hard enough to send her half way across the bank. Lenore hoped she wasn't dead. Lenore/Charlie threw a frightened, wide-eyed sweeping look across the bank, giving all the customers a good look at Charlie's face. She tucked the mask and moneybag underneath her arm, and ran out the door. The beginnings of her revenge lasted less then five minutes.  
  
****  
  
Lenore/Charlie ran out into the darkening street, and covered the moneybag with her- Charlie's jacket. Waiting for her a few streets away was the cab she had called an hour earlier. It was right on time. She got in, and gave the cabdriver directions to a street nearby her house. They soon arrived, and she paid him with the stolen money. Lenore figured, the more witnesses, the better.  
  
Lenore/Charlie got off of the cab, still holding the budging jacket. She watched the cab drive off, and when she was sure she wasn't being watched, she ducked behind a bush and became Lenore again.  
  
****  
  
She walked to where Charlie was waiting, and got into the back seat, jamming the moneybag and mask under the seat in front of her.  
  
"Hey baby. . . I be waitin' fer you. . . why don't ya come ta the front? Nexst ta me?"  
  
Lenore knew his slurring he had started drinking early. She leaned forward, and whispered breathlessly into his ear,  
  
"I know Charlie. . . Can you wait a little longer for me? I just wanna look good for you. . . "  
  
He laughed drunkenly, and said  
  
"Ya take as long as ya want Leenoore. . . Jest 'member ya gotta promise ta keep."  
  
Lenore stepped gently out of the car, whispering in a soft, venomous voice, "Call me the Raven. . ."  
  
The Raven, she wanted to be called, for Lenore's heart had become as black as the feathers of a sooty, ebony raven, darker than the blackest pitch. It was the day Lenore died, and the Raven was born.  
  
Charlie was too drunk to notice the passing and the death of an innocent.  
  
The Raven entered the house through the window, her what was once pure and white heart growing darker by each passing moment, and she waited, waited calmly for the police.  
  
****  
  
I have my revenge. From what I heard, he's getting 25 to life. He deserves it. He deserves to die rotting in a cell, like an animal, with no one to mourn his passing. The woman he hit is in a coma. They don't believe she'll live.  
  
I felt nothing when I heard of the woman's injury. No sorrow, no pain, nothing. I no longer believe that it was me that was there. It was not me that robbed that bank, it was him. He robbed the bank, he put that woman in a coma. Not me, him. Charlie.  
  
****  
  
This has not satisfied my hunger for vengeance. It has only served to make it stronger. It has shown me how sweet revenge can be. Tonight, I did not dream. It is the first night in 11 years that I have not relive the full pain of my 16 years. Tomorrow, my revenge for Cindy's death will be put into action. Tomorrow, I will satisfy my hunger.  
  
****  
  
Thanks for reading and reviewing!!  
  
Should I put in an extra chapter on how Lenore got revenge for Cindy's death or just go on with the story? I had been planning on just going into another part of Lenore's life and simply allude to the revenge without telling what actually happens, but if you want me to, I have a revenge all planed out.  
  
PLEASE review and tell me what YOU want!!!! 


	6. Magneto

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, except the plot. This poem is Poe's The Raven.s  
  
****  
  
The Raven: Magneto  
  
****  
  
The Raven  
  
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only  
  
That one word, as if (her) soul in that would word (she) did outpour.  
  
Nothing further then (she) uttered- not a feather then (she) fluttered-  
  
Till I scarcely more then muttered, "other friends have flown before-  
  
On the morrow (she) will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."  
  
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."  
  
-Edgar Allan Poe  
  
****  
  
Its been. . . three years since the day Lenore died. . . I barely remember her now. I cannot believe I was ever her, and she, me. I remember her less and less with each passing day, and I know a day will soon come when I will forget her completely. She is but a shadow now, a pure white shadow of my past, and my future, a black darkness; Evil.  
  
I no longer try to deny the evil I feel the way I tried to do when I first began my series of revenge. I no longer have anyone to revenge; I take vengeance simply because I feel joy in the pain of others. I have indeed grown as dark as my namesake. And I no longer deny it.  
  
I have even given a name to the body I use to do my most horrid deeds. It is Mystique, a name that was once familiar to me. . . I no longer remember why it is so familiar. I have grown most comfortable with my form as Mystique. I can stay in it longer than I can in any other form, perhaps because I created it. Each day, I am Mystique longer; if only by moments, but these moments allow me to forget the hated and weak body of Lenore. Lenore who reminds me of the foolish innocence I once possessed.  
  
My identity as Mystique is the most challenging identity I have ever made, perhaps because I know it is not a temporary body. It was created painstakingly, atom my atom, molecule by molecule, and I mean to keep it for as long as I can. It is the only body I have ever 'made.' All others were stolen from people I would brush against on the streets.  
  
The creating of Mystique almost drove me mad, I spent an entire year obsessing and dreaming of a body so repulsive no one would ever dare come close to me. I am. . . somehow. . . afraid I will be. . . hurt. . . but more than that, I am afraid I. . . that I. . . will love them, and they will be hurt because of my love, in the same way my mother and my father and my. . . Cindy were hurt.  
  
Six months ago my dream of the identity of Mystique was realized. As Mystique, my hair is blood red, my skin a sickeningly unnatural blue, scaly and slimy, and my eyes; the eyes that. . . my father? My father loved. . . My father loved my eyes. Even a father would, could not love these eyes. They are a dark yellow, looking like I was suffering from an illness that I would soon die of. I am, in a word, repulsive. My skin is my shield, my protection against humans and their incredible capacity to love and forgive. They are the last things I want- love and forgiveness, because they are the two things that may rob me of my hatred, and without my hatred, I am not be able to survive.  
  
To the world I am Raven Darkholme, at least for now. It is a conspicuous name, but I will not have it for long. I change my identity as often as one would change their hair color. In the past three years I have been Jane Dusk, Ryan Slate, Katy Coal, Grace Midnight, Dan Ebony, and so many more I cannot possibly remember them all. They are I and I, I them. There are so many within me, I no longer know who I am. All I now know for certain is the definite power of the evil within me.  
  
***  
  
"Ms. Darkhome, congratulations. You've just been appointed the new deputy director of the Defense Advanced Research Planning Agency."  
  
Former director Hadley looked at her snidely as he sneered his false congratulations; Raven Darkholme was probably the last person he had wanted in his high position. There was just something about her that he did not, could not trust.  
  
She smiled at him with equal venom, wishing him dead. She would see to it that her wish would come true, but just not now. She had long since learned patience was necessary to survive.  
  
"Thank you Hadley. . . and now you may leave my office." She allowed herself to savor the look of naked hatred in his eyes, and she called after him, "and please shut my door." She had finally worked herself to the top and Hadley to the bottom, and she would enjoy it.  
  
***  
  
Mystique sat casually at her desk, looking for information with which she would be able to incriminate any and all mutant haters. She suddenly bolted up, her eyes wide with surprise. She had stumbled upon an incredible document about a mutant. . . Magneto..  
  
Her quick eyes eagerly scanned the paper, fascinated. She had found an ally in her fight to kill all that hated the mutant race. He was well established in his work and had already targeted and taken down many people that were in important positions. He would be a strong ally.  
  
Mystique scanned the precious document quickly, hoping to discover his mutant power, but she was unable to. She did however find an ever-so interesting piece of information. . . his supposed address. She smiled coldly and grabbed her coat on her way out of the office.  
  
***  
  
Mystique surveyed the inconspicuous, two-story brick building, wondering if the treasure she was seeking was lying waiting for her. She was sure it was, she could feel his power.  
  
She slid up to the door, and as she walked, her blue, power suit melting into her body to form her grotesque, defensive form of Mystique. She turned the brass, weatherworn doorknob slightly with deft fingers, hoping it would open, and she smiled as the doors swung open for her. She slinked inside, looking around her carefully, and suddenly, a loud voice from above boomed,  
  
"So you've finally found me. . . Mystique is it?"  
  
Mystique looked around frantically for this powerful mutant, feeling foolish for having walked so boldly into the home of a man that could easily kill her with a single thought. She gathered strength from her form as Mystique and answered back to the invisible figure with courage she did not posses,  
  
"Hello Magneto."  
  
And he laughed, his laughter surrounded her, suffocating her. She wanted to see him.  
  
Mystique heard a soft noise behind her, and when she turned she saw him in the air, gently floating down as if invisible hands were guiding his landing. She gasped, his power was unmistakable, the very air around him hummed as he descended from the heavens like a god.  
  
He was older than her, much older, and his experience was unmistakable and she knew instinctively he had once stood where she stood now, on the verge of a revolution within. She smiled; she would enjoy this. 


End file.
